


Goodnight

by Goldstein_1984



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Feelings, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, M/M, starrison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstein_1984/pseuds/Goldstein_1984
Summary: "All day, Ringo had been avoiding George.Because of the nights."Ringo listens to his heart.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> Another starrison one-shot. Hope you enjoy! Goodnight to y'all :) (Don't know what time it is where you are, but here it's the beginning of a cold winter night.)

All day, Ringo had been avoiding George. Not completely, of course, but enough to give his mind a short break.

Because of the nights. The way his mind would wander aimlessly, helplessly, to places that shouldn't have existed. 

The way George chewed nervously on his bottom lip - the way his eyes melted into endless holes of warm darkness when he would stare in the distant - the way it was so much fun, so  _ peaceful _ being around him, and he would have this smile, all toothy and a bit lopsided and yet it made Ringo feel  _ good _ as soon as he glanced at George. A warmth pleasure for which he had still not found a place inside him yet. 

No, he could definitely not spend too much time around George today. Just for the day. Just in case. Was too painful. Too risky. Everything would come back to normal tomorrow. It was just because of that _dream. That dream he’d had._ _Oh God, that dream_. He couldn’t talk about it, not even with himself.

_ Silly sentimentality. That’s what it was. _

Ringo did his best to try looking normal, just exhausted and not really in a mood to hang out too late, even if he couldn't help a few jokes now and then. 

And yet, George - clever, understanding, shrewd and insightful George - didn't take long to notice. 

"Ritchie?" he asked, almost in a whisper, once they were laying on their respective beds in the hotel room they shared. "Uh… Everything’s alright?"

Ringo smiled at him, a lump in his throat.

“Nothing you gotta tell me? Or… anyone?”

No. No, of course there wasn't. It was way too late, anyway - a quarter past two was too late for deep talks. 

"No, I - I don't think so", Ringo murmured back without a look at George. 

"Not even goodnight?"

Ringo felt his insides churn in the most despicable way, and yet his whole body just needed to laugh. The strange feeling made him grip the sheets and he shut his eyes tight. 

"Yeah. 'Course. Goodnight, George." 

" 'Night."

George's single incomplete word seemed to twirl around Ringo's head before finally settling on his eardrums and finding a quick and steady pace. No-that wasn't it-that was his own heart. Pounding heavily as if it had nothing else to do. 

Well, of course it had nothing else to do. It couldn't stop just now, could it?

Somehow, Ringo felt his eyelids quiver and flutter open, heat rushing to his head. 

_ It could stop. _

_ In all possible ways.  _

_ Whether he was dead, or he couldn't hear his own heart anymore. _

_ Maybe he should just listen to it, then. _

Sometimes, Ringo felt as if nothing were real. This was the exact thought that came to his mind when his tongue twisted in his mouth which uttered the words : 

"George, are you asleep?"

Brief silence. Then : 

"Sure." 

Ringo rolled over to face George's bed, squinting in the dark to make out George's back. 

"Do you... do you feel sometimes like... your heart should stop speaking?"

George stirred a little. A hissed breath escaped his lips. 

"Like... I don't know. Like it’s talking to you all the time", Ringo added, and his own voice sounded like a mere vibration of air, not more. It was that, obviously - but air vibrations didn’t have a meaning. "As if it told you by the tempo that it shouldn't be... left ignored." 

George should have asked him if he had drunk too much - he probably had. Or else it was the exhaustion. And yet he managed a coherent answer to this nonsense : 

"You mean, having physical feels telling you to do something for your own sake that you wouldn't have thought of doing? Like.. like walking in the snow when you could take the streets, or... waiting the whole night for the sunrise when you’re insomniac even if you know you've gotta wake up early...?" 

Ringo couldn't respond. He just had the novel sensation of a storm building up inside his stomach and emptying him completely from all thoughts. 

"Ritch...?"

"Yes. Yes. Exactly. I... yes." 

George remained silent, but he rolled over to face Ringo. Ringo stared at the ceiling. Stared at the floor. At the window. At the sheets. At the stars. Into George's eyes. Into the night. 

"I feel a way about you I would never have thought of", he said. 

George closed his eyes. 

"What way?"

"A certain way. A nice way. Even if I shouldn’t… A way I like very much some days, and hate the day after." 

George rolled back to his previous position, his back turned to Ringo. 

"Goodnight, Ritchie."

Ringo didn't answer. He felt his breath stuck in his throat, and the air was becoming way too thick. 

"Do I gotta ask you each time I want you to say goodnight to me?" George said. 

Ringo didn't stir. 

"Sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Don't say that." 

"Okay."

"Don't say that."

George stood up, and for a moment, his tall, bony figure gleamed under the moonrays, pale light cutting the sharp edges of his silhouette. He then kneeled next to Ringo's bed. Ringo didn't turn to look at him. He knew he should have been more polite. He knew it. 

"I know you have the best rhythm in the world, so I won't contradict you", George said, voice shy and yet steady in the silence. "But I think you may have heard it wrong." 

Ringo still didn't answer. He tried to care. But all his mind would do was to pray for the night to come down on him right now and engulf him completely. 

"The thing you talked about. You know... You shouldn't hate it." 

George's tone was so soft, so smooth... 

Ringo felt a slim hand graze his shirt lightly and touch the fabric where his heart was. 

"Maybe I could give it a shot... I think mine's saying almost the same thing." 

Ringo clumsily pushed the sheets aside and peered at George. Faces inches apart. Mingling stares, dark and lit at the same time. 

"You sure?" Ringo asked in a short breath. 

George cocked his head to the side, looked away. Chewed on his bottom lip. Looked at the floor. Looked at Ringo - kissed him. 

They kissed. Again. And again. And Ringo felt his whole body tremble. And the nervous nausea that made its way to his throat wasn't enough to stop an exhilarating tide to flood his chest and neck and head. 

George climbed into Ringo's bed. His hand was shaking a little, and so was Ringo's voice when he said : 

"Goodnight, Georgie." 

George didn't do anything but smile in the dark. 

  
  



End file.
